


Never Mind

by montmorency



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montmorency/pseuds/montmorency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angst for Adam and Tommy, with a side of OMC for each. But in the end, they realize they belong together. This was begun as a work-in-progress over a year ago, so it's not what I originally imagined, but it's pretty close.</p><p>Disclaimer: This isn't real, it never happened, it's fiction. For our entertainment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_West Coast_

Somewhere buried deep in Orange County, in an atrociously decorated cookie-cutter townhouse set deep within a maze-like cul-de-sac of identical faux-Mediterranean houses painted in nauseating shades of puce (invisible in the dark, thank fuck), Tommy is nearly shuddering out of his skin. He doesn’t want to go in that house with the batshit crazy lady who is so transparent about her infatuation with – make that unhealthy sexual predatorship of – Adam Lambert or scarier still, _Tommy himself,_ that she’s willing to pay a thousand smackers to get Adam’s band-mates to play music in her fugly living room. What, she can’t come to a normal gig like the rest of the crazy people who traipse all over L.A. in search of sightings of Tommy Joe? He knows damn well that most of them would ditch him like a two-dollar whore for a mere glimpse of Adam’s luscious backside. And Monte has already discussed with him how he knows that they’d all stampede Monte to death just to get a millimeter closer to Tommy. The only person who seems insensible of the danger is Xander, who takes most things at face value like the sweet, unsuspecting guy he is.

Only love for Monte, plus a healthy dose of straight-talk-express by said Monte, could convince Tommy to do such a thing as haul his ass to Orange County for such a reason. The last time he was in Orange County, he was sixteen and going to Disneyland. But Monte’s all about making the living with music and how you have to do whatever it takes short of selling your soul to the devil. This feels pretty close to that, in Tommy’s view.

Once he’s got the Ovation out and reasonably in tune with the others, he flops onto the couch and refuses to pretend that this is a real gig. Also from this angle he won’t have accidental eye contact with the crazies. He’ll focus on Monte to get through this debacle.

 

_East Coast_

Adam reads his father’s text: _Wouldnt that make the coloring run?_

Not the fucking point, Dad, he thinks to himself. He shoves his phone back into his pocket. Sauli is standing outside the cab door, gazing around like Times Square is the second coming of Disneyland. It’s not that Sauli’s not nice but he can still see actual stars in Sauli’s eyes, or maybe that’s just reflections of gaudy neon. Adam is kind of hoping he didn’t look like such a rube the first time he went to Europe. Although he dreads that, yeah, he did. Then again he was a kid.

Speaking of hair, the facial hair itches and now, thanks to his damn dad, he can’t even scratch at it for fear the dye will get everywhere. It’s all so unfair – Tommy grows a beard, a _neck-beard_ no less – and looks strangely hot. Adam grows facial hair and the world howls in pain. He wants to grow a mountain-man beard just to spite them all but if he’s being honest that would hurt his vanity a lot. He’d have to avoid mirrors for months.

Once the stupid camera flashes stop and he can sort of see again, he notices Sauli exclaiming over the wonders of the nearby Toys R Us. Adam rolls his eyes, then hopes no camera caught it. 

When they’re finally in their seats and _Sister Act_ starts up on the stage, at last Adam can get out his phone and start texting Tommy in the dark.

 

_West Coast_

Tommy’s pants keep buzzing. It’s highly distracting. But he will not, _will not,_ get his phone out because even though he refuses to look up he knows there are people over his shoulder and on the balcony thing taking video and god help him if they catch what’s on his phone screen. So he puts up with the buzzing and hopes it’s Adam. He really needs Adam. Wants. Needs. Same diff.

He’s not going to get Adam. Adam is in New York with that pale imitation of himself. Not that Tommy’s vain, especially, but even Mia’s been shrieking, “He’s not even in the same room with you for pretty! What is Adam’s fucking damage?” until his ears are practically bleeding.

What _is_ Adam’s fucking damage? Because even Tommy can see what Adam is doing. Adam’s been a little too open about what he likes in a guy; add that to frenching Tommy from New Zealand to New York and it’s not hard to assume that Adam wants a shot at Tommy’s perky ass. Or at any rate wanted a shot. Even Tommy can figure that out. This, even though Tommy has trouble understanding why so many people, men and women, are interested in him. He knows he’s cute, in a theoretical way, because he’s heard it a million times growing up. But he’s neurotic so it’s hard to think anyone really wants to keep him. He’s had girlfriends but never lived with an actual life partner.

Tommy plucks at the Ovation on autopilot while he ponders this question. It’s that Adam thinks Tommy is oh so straight, that’s what it is. Tommy doesn’t especially understand his own need for Adam because he is straight, or he’s always felt straight. He just knows that the need is there. And that it hurts. He doesn’t have a right to be hurt, after all it was his choice, but love knows no logic.

Dutifully he plays a bass solo when Monte says his name, but he refuses to do a long one and refuses a second chance, trying to say it nicely for Monte’s sake. Xander gets way into his own solo. Even Monte does, climbing up and down the steps and in and out of doors while never missing a single note. Monte’s talented. His talent is wasted on this crap, in Tommy’s very humble opinion. But there’s that living to make. Four kids and a wife who doesn’t work can’t come cheap. Tommy’s serious about buying Beatrix because that would help them financially. Plus Tommy would have a cute fat baby girl then, and he would spoil her absolutely rotten. He would love spoiling her rotten. It’s a worthwhile life pursuit, surely. It seems like Lisa was just joking, though, and he can’t really have Beatrix. Damn.

 

_East Coast_

The _Sister Act_ show is great. Too bad Adam can’t focus on it. Tommy hasn’t responded with a single text. Not that the texts require replies; mostly they are Adam’s silly observations on traveling or being in Manhattan. Crap about photographers and fans and great food in restaurants, or food he can’t indulge in. Crap about awesome stores full of awesome clothing and accessories and boots. Crap about, well, crap. Tommy no doubt has something better to do than read Adam’s pathetic text messages.

After the curtain, Sauli wants to go clubbing. He’s heard of all the famous gay bars in Manhattan, some of which no longer exist. Adam’s people manage to find some spots for them to go. Bored, Adam finds himself making out with a cute boy or two in the clubs they visit. He and Sauli, they’re not entirely exclusive.

Adam would like to be exclusive again, like he was with Brad. Even though it didn’t work out, it felt good to be committed in a relationship. Even though they fought over the craziest shit, and fought until it fucking hurt, like his heart would break in a million pieces and he’d die of it, something about sharing a home and a life still gets to him and it’s worth it. Just because it didn’t work out forever with Brad, well, they were both young and it was the first time for both of them, living with a lover. They’re older and wiser but sadly not together. Still, Adam hasn’t given up on love, not at all. He hasn’t had anything even remotely close since, but he plans to. One day. With the very most perfect person on the planet, the one made just for him. He believes in kismet and karma. He’s pretty sure he’s found the right one, too. Even if the right one is annoyingly straight and amazingly oblivious.

Back in the here and now, in the dense and humid Manhattan night-life, he gets hit on over and over; he hears some pretty salacious offers, too. It’s the shallowness that’s the problem. Why’d it take him so long to figure this out? Adam’s not the deepest of the deep, but he’s not totally shallow. Right? So why is he always panting after tiny cute young boys regardless of whether they have personalities or talent? Take Sauli, for example. It’s hard for Adam to act superior about Sauli being on a reality show, because hey. American Idol. But at least Idol was about having a talent at something! Something other than a pleasant, thoughtful demeanor and a cute ass that’s on display rather too often. Those are the only talents that Adam has discerned in Sauli to date. Sauli’s nice and he’s fun and he’s all starry-eyed about Adam, which is very fucking appealing, thank you very much. 

But there’s someone else, totally unnamed and unmentioned, who is not only tiny, cute, actually elfin, _gorgeous_ and has good taste in makeup and clothing, but also is massively talented. Not to mention neurotic, anxious, complicated, kind, sweet, loving, depressed, boyish, goofy, and witty.

And that’s sexy. Sexy and also something he could live with forever. Anything else would be a raging bore. The fact that this particular boy, the boy of his dreams, is actually older just makes it that much more intriguing. Because Adam knows damn well he needs to get past this _type_ thing. Sex is plenty of fun, but if it’s not in the service of some deep emotional connection, then he feels like he’s missing out on the deepest experience of all.

His phone vibrates right in the middle of making out with a scrawny blond kid with beautiful big doe eyes. “Just a sec,” he says, unlocking lips and grabbing his phone. It’s a text. From Brad. 

_I can hear your mind whirring all the way from California._

_Shut up dork_ he texts back. Damn Brad. He looks around but the scrawny kid has drifted off, probably offended.

Another vibration. _get yer idiot arse back to la-la. ya cant win if ya dont play_

Adam sighs and scratches at his pirate beard. He knows what Brad means. Brad has accepted that their love is in the past. Brad approves of the nameless boy. Brad is getting into the role of matchmaker. It’s cute and maddening at the same time.

Time to call it a night. Where’d Sauli go? Probably macking on some other gay icon now. Lord knows the place is crawling with them.

 

_West Coast_

They all go out for a beer afterwards. The band, not the batshit crazies.

“I thought you liked the fans,” Xander says.

“As fans, sure. But that’s a little creepy, making us come to their house,” Tommy says, still quivering a bit, but not enough to make him drop the beer bottle. They’d offered booze at the house but he didn’t want it, so right now he really, really needs it.

Monte slaps a hand across Tommy’s shoulders. “That’s the business, kid. They’re paying our bills. It’s not like this hasn’t been going on for centuries. Artists have had patrons since forever.”

“Have you _seen_ that movie Amadeus? It’s not exactly a good thing necessarily.”

Monte shrugs with admirable equanimity. “It was always thus and it will always be thus. We want to be artists, there’s a price to pay.”

“They don’t want to sleep with _you_ ,” Tommy mutters.

“Oooh, harsh,” chortles Xander.

“Me, I’ve got a hot wife and four cute kids,” says Monte. “You can’t hurt my feelings. Tommy, my man, you were cursed with being good-looking. Deal.”

“Rather be you.” Tommy slumps further into the booth.

“I’m flattered,” Monte says. 

“I’d like to be flattered,” says Warren, peeling the label from his Heineken, “but nobody’s trying to flatter me.”

“For obvious reasons,” Xander says with a sweet smile. “I only wish someone would stalk me like they stalk Tommy.”

“No, you don’t,” says Tommy. 

Monte nudges at Tommy’s shoulder. “Stop with the despondence, Tommy, you’re going to find someone. Something incredible is waiting for you, I know it deep down. Keep your eyes open and don’t miss the chance when it comes, okay?”

Tommy moans and lays his head on the table. If only Monte understood, but he’s never gonna be able to talk about this with Monte. Or Xander or Warren either. “Wanna martini,” he mutters.

“Xander, get the boy a martini.”

 

_East Coast_

It feels so wrong to be in bed with one guy while thinking about another. It doesn’t help that Sauli’s sawing logs a few inches away while Adam’s still texting the one guy he can’t get over and can’t ever have, either.

Tommy finally texts back, something about _tired_ and _bedtime._

Adam texts back _love u_ but gets no response. He figures Tommy fell asleep. He pops in his earbuds and turns up _Someone Like You_ and falls asleep himself with one stupid tear track dampening his cheek. He feels ridiculous for getting so emotional over a song but who’s here to see?

 

_Los Angeles_

Tommy waits to hear from Adam. And waits. And waits. He knows that Adam is back in L.A. That he has to know it from the internet is pathetic. Adam’s got someone. He doesn’t need Tommy any longer. Tommy hates when friends get involved with someone. Not that he isn’t happy for his friends, but there’s always a drifting apart that happens. Tommy was Adam’s plus-one for so long, he thought it would always be that way. Maybe he should have found dates to take to those events instead of being so dependent on Adam.

Tommy decides to stop being pathetic and go out and find someone for himself. And since boys are on his mind, he decides to find himself a boy and see what it’s like for real. See if he can do it.

But he gets lazy about it. When he’s supposed to be finding boys, he listens to bands or goes to a movie or hangs out with friends or something. He forgets to be looking for someone. And isn’t that always his biggest problem.

So Shane finds him instead.

Tommy’s in a Westwood bar near UCLA, not his usual haunt. His friends picked it out. There are actually guys in this place wearing cargo shorts and Vans and untucked oxford shirts or, worse yet, Ed Hardy tees. They have no sense of style, or at any rate a disturbingly, horrifically _wrong_ sense of style. 

Shane is one of these. Style aside, he’s actually good-looking and doesn’t behave like a frat-boy douche even though once he gets a look at Tommy, he’s pretty persistent. He buys Tommy a drink and Tommy tends to be in favor of free drinks. He talks with Shane enough to be polite. Shane has zero idea who he is, meaning that there is some virtue to going to a Westwood bar.

When he’s done with the drink, Tommy sets it on the bar and moves to slide off the barstool and go find his friends. Shane lays his hand on top of Tommy’s where it’s still on the bar. Tommy looks up, more than a bit surprised. He isn’t sure why this guy wants to talk to him in the first place because he’s pretty square, not even a hipster type, and Tommy is wearing plenty of makeup.

“Do you come here other nights?” Shane asks. He looks earnest and worried. 

Tommy carefully pulls his hand out from under.

“Oh! Sorry,” says Shane, curling his fingers away from Tommy’s. “I’ve never seen you here before and I just thought, well.”

“No big deal. This isn’t where I usually hang.” Tommy slides to the floor, fidgeting, not sure whether to leave or stay. He’s still uncertain where this is going but Shane has been very nice.

Shane slides off, too. He’s tall and lean with wavy brown hair and sea-blue eyes; in other words, way too reminiscent of a certain someone else, even though he doesn’t exactly set off Tommy’s gaydar. 

“Can I see you again?” Shane asks. “If you want, that is.”

Tommy smacks his forehead mentally. He’s been looking for a dude and here he pulled a really handsome, sweet one without even realizing it. He isn’t sure what he was expecting – maybe someone to just grab him and plant a big wet kiss right on his perfectly applied gloss. After all that’s what guys often do to him.

Tommy hands over his phone number. He and Shane are so mismatched, he figures nothing more will happen anyway.

He’s wrong about that. Shane wastes no time in finding ways to spend time with Tommy. He’s fascinated about the music scene and asks a million questions. He wants to see Tommy at a gig, he wants to watch a horror movie or two, he’s up for anything. Strangely enough, he’s a grad student at UCLA, studying Atmospheric and Oceanographic Sciences, whatever the fuck that is. He’s twenty-seven and he loves camping and he plays soccer and he grew up in Merced.

Tommy is a little overwhelmed by Shane. He brings Raja along to one of their dates, if that’s the right term, to see if that’ll scare Shane off. It doesn’t. Shane and Raja bond instantly. Square or not, Shane clearly appreciates a fabulous drag queen.

“Tommy, he’s fucking _gorgeous!_ ” Sutan coos the next day over a simple lunch at Adilberto’s Tacos.

Tommy unwraps a taco uncertainly. “What does he want?”

“You, apparently.”

“We’re so different.”

“Not really. You’re both sweethearts and you’re both interesting people.”

“He hasn’t even tried to kiss me.”

Sutan sets his burrito aside and leans forward on his elbows. “Tommy, when did you decide to get yourself a boyfriend?”

“Um, awhile back.”

“Exploring your options?”

“Yeah, that. All those times people ask me about if I find guys attractive, it got me thinking. If they’re interested, why shouldn’t I go out with a guy? It seemed like the right time.”

“And then you found this hunk?”

“Kind of. He found me.”

“But he hasn’t kissed you yet? Oh, sweetie, he has a nice mouth. I’d want to get a piece of that if I were you.”

Tommy grins lopsidedly. “Never thought I’d want to kiss a guy who has a six-pack.”

“Hooo boy!” Sutan fans himself with his hand. “If you don’t want him –“

“Shut up,” says Tommy.

Sutan smiles evilly, slurping suggestively at his mango smoothie. “You do want him to kiss you? Don’t you worry, he’ll kiss you. No one could pass up on you, darling.”

“It’s been like three weeks already.”

Sutan inhales accidentally and nearly chokes. He slams his smoothie cup on the table. “Three weeks!? What the fuck have you two been doing?”

Tommy has the decency to look embarrassed. “Watching movies, going out for food, um, talking, um… he likes to listen to me practice, go figure. He took me to the Getty Center, isn’t that weird?”

“The Getty Center is stupendous! Please.”

“Plus I’ve gone to see his soccer team play.”

“What!” Sutan starts choking all over again. “You, Tommy Joe Ratliff, went of your own accord to watch a sporting event?”

Tommy shrugs. “Just his intramural team is all. It’s low-key.”

Sutan stares and stares. “Sporting event. You. Watching.”

“Yeah, so?” Tommy feels a little defensive but only a little. It’s no big deal, after all. He hadn’t wanted to go at first but Shane said it would be friends and family watching, not that many people. So he’d gone and sure enough, everyone is friendly, no one gives him any shit. Shane explains that the other guys on his team are impressed that he has a rock star boyfriend. Tommy’s been getting more daylight than normal but he always makes sure to wear the freaking biggest sunglasses he’s got, and he sits back on the bleachers with the other team members’ girlfriends and it’s cool. It’s fun talking with the chicks. The game itself seems silly, all that running up and down a big field and kicking a ball around, but Tommy finds he kind of likes watching Shane in action.

“Earth to Tommy,” says Sutan. “Thinking about your man?”

Tommy laughs. “I’m not sure he’s my man.” But he’s thinking that Shane already introduces him as _boyfriend_ and Tommy doesn’t mind that at all. “It’s just been awhile since anyone’s kissed me,” Tommy grumbles. Now he’s thinking of someone else and he twitches and shifts around on the uncomfortable plastic seat.

“You’re upset that he’s a gentleman.”

Tommy munches on the taco and looks thoughtful. “Hmmpf. Maybe I don’t have to be the girl, do I?”

Sutan smacks the back of Tommy’s head lightly. “Baby, what have I told you about that?”

“It’s not about being the girl or the boy.”

“Right!”

“Because some of us can be the girl _and_ the boy,” Tommy adds innocently, earning another smack. “Ow, quit it, wouldya?”

“That didn’t hurt.”

Tommy grins. “No, but still.”

Sutan returns to the task of sucking noisily on the smoothie straw. “Listen, honey, what’s holding him back? Or what’s holding you back?”

“Probably me, acting like a dork.”

Sutan gives him a stern look. 

Tommy throws up his hands in surrender. “Okay, dude, I’ll make the first move.”

“That’s my baby,” Sutan says proudly.

They eat and drink in companionable silence, until Tommy finally can’t keep himself from saying something awkward. “Um, have you seen Adam lately?” Immediately he wishes he hadn’t because of the pitying look that pops up on Sutan’s face. “Never mind, forget I asked.”

Sutan nudges Tommy’s boot with his own. “You knew it would be like that when he started going out with someone.”

“Yeah. I knew. Never mind.”

 

_Tommy’s apartment_

Shane shows up at Tommy’s place with a backpack of books. He spreads out on the floor of the tiny living room, books everywhere, his laptop handy, working on his thesis. He claims that listening to Tommy messing around on the guitar is not only relaxing but helps him focus.

Tommy thinks about what he promised Sutan earlier in the day. He sprawls back on the swap-meet sofa, finger-picking his Martin acoustic and watching Shane surreptitiously. Shane is really interested in the effect of global warming on fish populations in the Pacific Ocean and he’s writing a few million pages worth of thesis. Tommy can’t quite imagine why there’s so much to be said on the topic. He asks now and then and gets answers about climate dynamics, the cryosphere, coupled systems and data assimilation. Shane talks excitedly about it as though Tommy understands every word he’s saying, and even though Tommy doesn’t get it all, he gets that Shane loves it maybe the same way Tommy loves music. It’s not like Shane understands everything Tommy tells him about harmonics or the difference between electrostatic and electromagnetic speakers and why the best amps go to eleven, but Shane loves music, and Tommy loves the ocean, so it’s all good.

Shane looks up and catches his eye and smiles, making Tommy blush. To cover it he decides the strings are sounding stale and he goes off to rummage in his kitchen junk drawer for the peg winder and fresh strings.

“What was that song you were playing?” Shane calls. “It’s really pretty.”

Tommy finds the winder and a set of Martin Marquis Extra Lights and slams the drawer closed. What _was_ he playing? He shoves his floppy bangs behind his right ear. _Someone Like You._ Oh shit. He’s been playing that song.

“Just something I heard somewhere,” he says casually, returning to flop onto the couch, pulling the Martin’s headstock across his lap and unwinding the low E peg.

“Whatcha doing?” Shane asks. 

“Old strings.”

Shane watches. “How can you tell?” It’s amazing the things that fascinate Shane. 

“They start sounding dull and go out of tune faster.”

Shane powers down his laptop. “Getting bored of it,” he explains, getting up and sitting on the sofa by Tommy, slipping the guitar body onto his lap. He asks five zillion more questions about what notes the strings are, and why he’s doing it one at a time, and what makes the strings stay in those holes, and is there a special order for changing strings, and blah blah, while Tommy turns the guitar around and pops out the bridge pin and seats a fresh string. He loves talking about music so he’s happy to tell Shane all about it.

Once all the strings are on and tight, Tommy pulls the guitar into position and fiddles with the tuning pegs. Shane gets up and switches to Tommy’s other side, sitting halfway behind him on the sofa. “Show me how to do a chord,” he says, reaching both long arms around Tommy.

Tommy grins over his shoulder. “Cheesy, dude.”

They look at each other until Tommy blushes and drops his chin.

“Too cheesy?” Shane turns Tommy’s face back to his, hand light on Tommy’s cheek.

It’s a little uncomfortable but whatever, Tommy’s flexible. His lips are about two inches from Shane’s and he thinks _do it_. He likes Shane a lot and he wants to know what it’s like because, contrary to popular belief, Adam’s the only guy who’s ever frenched him, notwithstanding the insane attempts of Isaac, Ravi and one or two others. He’s about to go for it when Shane closes the gap first, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. 

Shane doesn’t taste or smell anything like Adam. But he’s like Shane and that’s good. He’s thorough as well, not shy about pushing his tongue into Tommy’s mouth and searching out every corner. It’s a bit overwhelming, so Tommy elbows Shane’s ribs gently and Shane pulls back.

“No?” asks Shane.

“No, wait.” Tommy sets the guitar aside. Then he turns around and climbs into Shane’s lap, flinging both arms around Shane’s neck. “It was awkward,” he says awkwardly. “This is better, right?”

“Way better.” Shane immediately proves he means it by encircling Tommy in his arms and pulling his head down for another soft kiss. Leaning back again, he stares up at Tommy’s face. “Are you kind of new to this?”

“Kind of,” Tommy admits, weirdly shy until Shane pulls him in again. It’s not that much different from a girl: lips are soft either way, but there’s a bit of stubble burn and a masculine scent. Plus Shane’s a lot bigger than any girl he’s kissed, although sitting on his lap like this, he can tilt his head down, so at least that’s a bit familiar. One way or another it’s not like Adam at all, as they bite and lick at each other’s mouths. Because when Adam kissed him? That was for show. This is for real.

Shane’s hands start roaming, sneaking under Tommy’s shirt and down into his jeans, and suddenly it really is for real. The oh-shit-I’m-kinda-gay freakout comes and goes quietly while a big hand traces his spine and his own hands steal into Shane’s thick dark hair.

They kiss on the ratty sofa, then in the kitchen, then up against a random wall, then on Tommy’s bed. They get naked and touch each other and don’t do anything too vigorous, just rocking together with more making out until they both come. They take a shower; the shower stall is on the small side but it hardly matters because they spend most of the time making out some more and Tommy gets a better look at Shane’s body. He doesn’t really have a six-pack, just lots of long, lean, gorgeous muscle. Sutan is right: Shane is a hunk. Although that’s a dumb word.

Tommy wakes up in the late morning to find a cooling warm spot next to him on the bed and a note on the cinder-block bedside table - _In the lab, be back for dinner_ \- and it just makes him grin. 

Kinsey scale. Huh. 

 

_Chez Carpenter_

Adam reaches into his front pants pocket and makes sure the folded paper is still there. Like a pathetic sad-sack, he’s been carrying around a crumpled printout he made of various things that Tommy wrote on his Tumblr. Answers to embarrassing fan questions like _do you think adam lambert is attractive?_ and the soul-satisfying answer from Tommy: _of course I do!_

How many hours has he spent trying to figure out whether he’s sufficiently androgynous in Tommy’s eyes? Adam’s very toppy and he knows it damn well, but then again he wears enough makeup to open a boutique shop on Melrose. He ponders Tommy’s “type” in male pulchritude – _The androgenous type. Good eyes, nose and lips_ – over and over. Tommy likes “girly girls.” Does Adam count? Adam doesn’t look all that femme in full drag and yes, there are pictures everywhere so Tommy has certainly seen them.

His eyes search the smallish apartment where Sophie and Isaac are holding a party. He hasn’t seen Tommy in weeks. It’s his own fault. He wants Tommy to come to him but there’s Sauli and so Tommy is giving them, you know, _space._ It’s shitty to be hunting around for someone else when you’re there with your significant other, but Adam can’t help it. Small or not, the place is jammed with people and Tommy is short, making him harder to spot than one might think. 

The doorbell rings and Sophie opens the front door and suddenly there’s that tangled nest of bleached blond hair. Tommy looks literally edible. Adam’s heart skips a beat. Before he knows it he’s pushing through people with the sole goal of getting next to Tommy and wrapping him in a huge hug. But before he gets that far Monte’s in his face and talking a mile a minute about the upcoming gig in Russia, oblivious to Adam’s impending heart failure.

It’s just as well, because he keeps looking past Monte’s shoulder, waiting for Tommy to catch his eye, and then he sees Shane’s arm around Tommy’s narrow shoulders. Double-take time. The WTF must show clearly in his eyes, because Monte turns around to follow Adam’s gaze and then turns back. “Tommy scored a handsome dude, didn’t he?” Monte says as though it’s nothing, and then proceeds to rattle on about dates and set lists and contracts.

“Wait, wait, Monte. I need the can, sorry, it’s urgent, I’ll be back in a few.”

Monte nods and Adam slips down the hallway and commandeers the bathroom, where he locks the door and then studies his features in the mirror – front view, profile, low angle, high angle. He thinks his nose is pretty nice. His lips, well, Tommy’s never complained about being kissed by these lips. He’s pretty sure his eyes are freaking awesome, his best feature, no lie.

 _There are a lot of guys I find attractive_ he remembers from Tommy’s Tumblr, hand going back into his pocket and touching the printout. Shit, did he wait too long or make the wrong assumptions or _what the fuuuuuck?_

A hand bangs on the door, startling him.

“Adam, I saw you go in there! What’s taking so long?” 

Sutan’s voice. Adam opens the door and Sutan slides in. Adam re-locks the door while Sutan unzips and starts to piss. 

“Nice,” says Adam. “Don’t mind me.”

“You’ve seen it before,” Sutan says, shaking off, zipping up and flushing.

“Wash your hands,” Adam demands.

“Get out of the way, then. What were you doing, worshipping your image?” Sutan washes up and leans in to inspect his own face.

“Oh, fuck you,” says Adam. “Who in fuck is that guy with Tommy?” 

Sutan wipes his hands dry. “Shane?”

“Is that his name? Shane? What kind of name is that?”

Sutan points a finger straight into Adam’s face. “If you didn’t ignore your friends, you big idiot, you’d have met him already.”

“But who _is_ he?” Adam wails. 

Sutan stares him down. “You had your chance, Adam.”

“Fuck, no. Tommy’s going out with him?”

“You knew that the second you saw him.”

“Sutan, he’s a _guy_.”

“We all noticed that, Adam.” Sutan folds his arms and leans back against the door.

“He has a Y chromosome!”

“Uh huh.”

“Tommy likes girls!”

“And?”

Adam throws his hands up in despair. 

There’s a polite knock on the door.

“Are you sick in there or something?” It’s Sophie. “People are lining up, there’s only one bathroom in our apartment.”

Adam flinches. “We didn’t even do anything and we’re going to do the walk of shame.”

Sutan giggles. Adam grins sheepishly. They don’t bother to explain themselves to their friends who watch them exit the bathroom together.

In the tiny kitchen, Adam whispers fiercely in Sutan’s ear, “I’m not taking this sitting down.”

“Maybe you should, Shane’s kind of toppy and you do have a nice ass.”

Adam pinches Sutan’s side before he gets out of range. Sutan throws him a lascivious wink as he disappears between two bodies blocking the entrance to the living room. Adam’s tall enough to see over most heads, so he notices that Sauli is at the tiny dining room table, making friends with a couple of women, no doubt charming them. He’s good at that. So he’ll be okay for awhile. 

Adam turns his head to the living room and finds what he’s looking for – Tommy curled up on the big sofa. Curled up with that dude who (Adam can’t help noticing) looks suspiciously like himself, except a more boring version of himself with lousy fashion sense. Tommy is practically in the guy’s lap, for fuck’s sake. They have that kind of glow that says we-had-sex that infuriates Adam and gets his feet in motion.

He surfs his way through the living room, getting a couple of kisses on the cheek and brief greetings along the way but he’s on a mission. He stops at the sofa right in front of Tommy, knocking his knee against Tommy’s.

“Hey,” he says.

Tommy glances up, his Bambi eyes wide. He looks, to Adam, both happy and uncomfortable.

“Adam, hey.” Tommy shifts so he’s not quite in the lap of Mr. Y Chromosome. He looks incredibly tiny next to the guy. For a moment Adam gets how he and Tommy must look to other people. “Adam, this is –“

“I need to talk to you,” Adam interrupts, refusing to look anywhere but directly at Tommy’s hair.

“Oh. Okay.”

Adam blazes a trail to the front door, not bothering to check that Tommy is following. If that guy has fucked Tommy, Adam’s going to blow a gasket. In the outdoor hallway that connects the apartments in the complex, he steps into a corner and waits till Tommy comes close.

“Adam?” Damn, Tommy sounds really uncomfortable. Adam gets that it’s his fault. He didn’t need Sutan to tell him that. “I thought maybe I’d get a hug,” Tommy says softly.

“I want to give you one,” Adam says, hauling Tommy in and wrapping him up tightly. He’s so happy when Tommy’s arms go around his back.

“I missed you,” Tommy says against his shirt.

“It’s my fault, honey,” Adam assures him. “I shouldn’t have taken this long.”

“You were busy,” Tommy offers.

No excuses. Adam won’t use excuses. He holds on a bit longer and then releases Tommy, who steps back. “So you’re, what, gay now?” Adam asks, laughing a little.

Tommy wrinkles his nose in that adorable way he has. Adam always thought that was _his_ look. If Tommy uses that look on the other guy, Adam’s going to go batshit insane. “Maybe a little?” Tommy says shyly. 

“I corrupted you?”

“I think you did.” Tommy laughs awkwardly. 

“Are you happy?”

“Mmm, yeah, I am,” Tommy says, looking down at his hands.

Adam shoves his own hands in his pockets so he won’t grab Tommy again. “Wow, I’d never have guessed.”

The apartment door opens and Sutan and Shane come over to them.

“Adam, you didn’t meet Shane,” Sutan says with a stern look.

“Tommy’s friend, right?” Adam sticks out his hand and they shake.

“Tommy made me listen to all your songs,” Shane says. “I don’t know much about singing but you sound great.”

“Thanks.” Adam can’t help comparing himself to Shane. Superficially they look rather alike, but Shane is slightly leaner and a couple of inches taller. Adam is envious of Shane’s smooth skin and slender fingers. Shane is the kind of guy you could put in a five-thousand-dollar suit and take photographs for magazine spreads, but without the snotty attitude on his face. His smile is genuine and it’s hard not to like him, although Adam’s going to do his very best to try.

“Tommy, sweetie,” says Sutan, “Sophie has someone she wants you and Shane to meet. She sent me out here to get you.” He pats Tommy’s behind. “Shoo.”

“Nice to meet you, Adam,” says Shane. He takes Tommy’s hand and they head back indoors.

Adam glowers at Sutan. “Did you have to do that?”

“You were acting like an asshole.”

“Can you blame me? It’s Tommy.”

“Of course it’s Tommy. It’s always Tommy. It took you a long time to figure that out.”

“Where did I fuck up?” Adam asks wonderingly.

“Never mind,” says Sutan. “He found someone like you.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Brad’s apartment_

“Make it better,” Adam pouts, digging his ass further into Brad’s couch cushions, spooning up another heap of mint chocolate chip and shoving it in his mouth.

Brad minces into the room, setting a laden plate on the coffee table and snuggling up next to Adam.

“Please don’t eat a hot dog in front of me,” Adam adds. “You are so cruel.”

“You’re such a baby.” Brad picks up the hot dog and munches at it delicately.

“I thought you were on my side.”

“Always, love. But it’s not like Cheeks can perform actual miracles. The lord helps those who help themselves.”

“Fuck you.” Adam takes another big spoonful of ice cream.

“Anytime.”

Adam grunts. “You aren’t taking this seriously.”

Brad sighs and sets the half-consumed hot dog down. He turns on the couch, crossing his legs and facing Adam. “Listen to me, my sweet. This is actually good news. The precious little elf you’ve been jacking off over for two years is doing the horizontal tango with a man. At last.”

Adam slumps further into the couch, not mollified at all.

“I have a question,” Brad says carefully. “What about Sauli?”

“He’s sweet but it’s not going to last.”

“You sure of that?”

“Mm-hmmm. Think he’s getting homesick.”

“I have to admit I was wondering if he doesn’t have shit he needs to do back in Finland. You’d think he’d miss his own bed after awhile.”

Adam turns his head and pins Brad with stormy blue eyes. “Why would he miss his bed when he gets to sleep in mine?”

“Oh, well, there is that,” Brad says sardonically. “On the hierarchy of beds, where would you put yours vis-à-vis Tommy’s boyfriend’s bed?”

Adam smacks Brad’s shoulder.

“Ouch,” Brad says mildly. “Struck a nerve, did I?”

Adam’s ice cream is all gone. Brad pries the bowl from his hand and sets it next to the hot dog plate on the coffee table.

“Have you seen that guy? He’s like a fucking Adonis,” Adam whines. 

“So I’ve heard.”

“I hate him so hard. I hate him on principle even though he’s nice. He’s nice, _and_ he’s gorgeous, _and_ he’s smart, _and_ he’s thoughtful, _and_ he’s athletic, _and_ he’s got great hair.”

“ _And_ he’s got Tommy.”

“He volunteers at the animal shelter and he’s writing a 200-page thesis and he’s up for a Rhodes scholarship. Did I mention I hate him?”

“You hate him so hard,” Brad agrees.

“Don’t laugh at me. You and Sutan think it’s hilarious, but it’s not, it hurts.”

Brad fake-pouts at Adam. 

“Stop that,” Adam says immediately.

“Buck up, baby. There’s something Shane isn’t.”

“What?”

“He isn’t you.”

Brad probably meant that to be helpful but it isn’t. “Right, he doesn’t have my double chin or my fat fingers or my muffin top or my horrible skin.”

Brad springs up and grabs the dishes. “Oh no you don’t,” he says, sashaying to the kitchen and talking over his shoulder. “You’ve been whinging about that shit for seven years, I’m not listening anymore.”

“Bitch,” Adam says, not moving from his slouch. 

Brad comes back eventually and sits and takes Adam’s face in his hands. 

“We’ve been over this. You are beautiful.”

“Am not.”

“Don’t question my taste.” Brad brushes back a strand of black hair that escaped the hair product. “You have the world’s most gorgeous smile, for one thing.”

“Pooh,” says Adam, trying to frown. “This isn’t helping.”

Brad sinks back into the cushions and watches Adam. “I will help you, Adam, you know that. Let’s recap, okay? And see where things went… awry.”

“Oh, fuck.” 

“No, look at me, hon. Okay, you meet Tommy. Sparks fly.”

“Only on my side.”

“Shush. You don’t know that. So even though you know he was going out with a girl, you kissed him in front of, what, hundreds of thousands of people? How many people watched that show?”

“He said he didn’t mind!”

“That was afterwards. Then you spend months kissing him on stage. But you still had Drake on the side.”

“Tommy had Liz. Well, if he’d wanted her. He didn’t seem that involved in the relationship.”

Brad taps Adam’s knee. “Do you know I never saw Tommy smile for months. I used to think he couldn’t smile. You got him smiling.”

Adam looks up. “Really?”

Brad nods. “See? It’s not hopeless.”

“But Brad, he just plain doesn’t want me! He was dating girls, he said he’s straight, what was I supposed to do? And then he goes and throws it in my face by finding this… other man. Gah!” Adam grabs his hair in both hands and yanks. “It’s driving me fucking insane!”

“He didn’t do it to spite you, Adam.”

Adam glares. “That’s sure how it looks.”

Brad gently pulls Adam’s hands away from his hair. “Be careful with that pelt, baby, you’re lucky to have such nice hair, you don’t want to take chances with it.”

“Who cares about hair if I don’t have love?”

Brad sighs more gustily than before. “Trust me, take it from a boy with a receding hairline, you’ll care.” Brad smoothes Adam’s hair down. “You are such a big baby. How did I put up with you for so long? Don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical. Back to the recap. So last month you went to New York with your boyfriend and when you got back, did you make plans to do something with Tommy? To see your close friend? No. You went and got a new tat with said boyfriend instead of your friend who you had told the world you would go with.”

“Sauli was getting jealous.”

“I don’t give a shit. You don’t treat friends like that, no matter what. You embarrassed him publicly.”

Adam frowns. “I wasn’t thinking of it like that.”

“I’ll bet Tommy was.”

“He didn’t seem upset.”

“Adam, I despair of you. Honestly. Despair isn’t even a strong enough word.” Brad rises from the couch. “Get up, your posture is horrible.”

“Huh?”

“This isn’t like you, Adam. Get your fanny perpendicular right this second.”

Adam shuffles to his feet. Brad may be shorter but he’s intimidating when he wants to be. He points a finger right at Adam’s nose.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You wanted a boyfriend and you got yourself one.”

“Because Tommy wasn’t interested!”

“You made that decision for him.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Give him a chance. Come on, Adam, how many straight guys do you know who’ll go tongue-diving with another man so often or with such enthusiasm? In some countries you would have been considered automatically married after all that kissing. You know, Tommy’s always struck me as a little bit bi.”

“But I was texting him like five hundred times when I was in New York and I even wrote I love you and he didn’t answer.”

Brad lays both hands on Adam’s shoulders, reaching up to do it. “This isn’t the Adam Lambert I know. The one I know doesn’t whine and bitch and moan. He takes action.”

Adam squares his shoulders and stands up straighter.

“That’s better, now what’s your plan of action?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

 

_Adam’s house_

It’s past midnight and he can’t sleep. Sauli’s upstairs and he apparently can sleep. Good for him.

The house is big enough that Adam can watch TV downstairs and the sound won’t carry to the bedroom wing. He channel-surfs until he’s sick of it. Still no nearer to sleep. His mind won’t stop spinning. He keeps running over times in the past when maybe he should have picked up on some signal. The first time he kissed Tommy and there was Tommy laughing his cute little Valley-boy laugh and thinking it was so rad. Should that have been a clue? But no. He already knew Tommy was totally in favor of different forms of sexuality. Was it a few kisses into the first tour, when eventually Tommy started getting playful with Adam? Maybe Amsterdam, where Tommy just plain let Adam tongue-fuck him into the ground in front of screaming fans. Maybe the Nokia Theater in L.A. where Tommy almost wouldn’t let the kiss end.

Should Adam have known? After all, he’s made out with women on occasion. He believes in the Kinsey scale, because he’s gay, he identifies as gay, but he’s a five. He can accept that. What if Tommy’s a one instead of a zero? And is that enough to base a relationship on? He’s never wanted to marry any of those women he kissed.

Who was that guy during his NYC tweet party who said he should write a song about loving someone who doesn’t respond the way you want. Without hesitating Adam had tweeted _totally been there. Think I may already have one of those in the can._

Wow. Could he be more obvious? 

Good thing Sauli doesn’t care much for Twitter. Earlier, he had held Sauli’s hand at the American Idol red carpet. He feels it’s important that gay people be seen showing affection the same way straight people do. He loves Sauli, too, as a friend. A new relationship is always fun and exciting at first. A few months later and usually you know where it’s going, or not going. Considering how coy Adam had been about Sauli to the press in the beginning, it’s going to be awkward when it ends. The price of fame. Oy very fucking vey.

He picks up his phone and looks at it sadly. He remembers how close he and Tommy used to be, always texting stupid things to each other at all hours. He misses that, and he misses Tommy. Mostly he needs Tommy.

Brad is a twitchy bitch but he is right about one thing. Adam blew it. And Adam has to fix it.

His fingers are typing almost before he’s aware, and he sends a brief _glitterbaby_ to Tommy.

 _babyboy_ comes back instantly.

Adam sits up straight, wide awake, staring at the phone. _can’t sleep_ he types.

_same here_

Adam hesitates. He wants – no, needs – to hear Tommy’s voice. He doesn’t overthink it, just hits speed dial. One ring and Tommy picks up.

“Shh, Shane’s sleeping.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Is everything okay?”

That makes Adam feel like shit. As though Adam would only call Tommy for an emergency. Well, maybe it is an emergency. “I miss you.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to say “Oh.” There’s a sound like Tommy scratching at stubble. “We’ll be going to Russia in two days.”

“Could we just – not here, though.”

“Denny’s on Alameda,” says Tommy. “Can you make it in fifteen?”

Adam makes it in ten. The roads are practically empty at two a.m. Even so Tommy’s already ensconced in a booth in the brightly lit place, which is even emptier than the roads.

“Your hair is pink,” says Adam.

Tommy gives him a lopsided smile.

“Pink,” Adam insists.

“Yup.”

Adam slides into the booth. “Can I touch it?”

“Sure.”

Adam threads his fingers through the strands of hair. “It’s gorgeous, there are so many colors. It’s not just pink, it’s like pink straw. What does, uh, Shane think?”

“He likes it.”

Adam notices that Tommy already ordered tea. He adds a packet of honey. He’s burning with inappropriate questions that he wants to ask. Like, Does he stay at your place all the time? Do you fucking sleep with him? And what the fuck does he have that I don’t have outside of more muscles and fewer pimples?

Instead, Adam bites his lip and stirs his tea. 

“So,” Tommy clears his throat, “is everything okay?”

“I just missed you, that’s all. I’ve been a bad friend.”

“No, you haven’t,” Tommy says quickly. “You’re busy.”

“That’s a bad excuse. Remember when we did lots of things together? Now I don’t even know what’s going on with you. That’s insane.”

A tired-looking waitress drops off a basket of fries for Tommy.

“That’s ‘cause my life is lots more boring than yours. I’m not the big rock star.” Tommy says it with a smile as he squirts a giant pile of ketchup onto a plate.

Adam sips his tea and wishes he could eat a plate of fries without worrying about his midsection. “You have your own crazy fans.”

Tommy snickers. “Accent on the crazy.”

“Not all of them?”

“No, course not. But they can jump to conclusions like, so fast.”

“Twitter fights,” agrees Adam.

“No kidding,” Tommy agrees.

“But something big happened in your life while I wasn’t paying attention.”

Tommy busies himself with fries and ketchup.

“Tommy?”

Tommy looks up, a fry halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

Adam isn’t sure how to put this. Tommy sure isn’t helping. In fact he’s pretty certain that Tommy is feeling embarrassed about it. Adam opens his mouth to speak but Tommy’s there first, saying very suddenly, “Hey, can I see the new ink?”

Nice redirect, Adam thinks; he shrugs off his leather jacket and dumps it on the banquette and holds out his right forearm. Tommy touches the tattoo carefully.

“Didn’t I tell you, he’s a real artist.”

“Yeah, I love it already.”

Tommy runs a forefinger along the key, making Adam’s skin tingle almost unbearably. He’s always loved Tommy’s fingers.

“It’s a skull,” Tommy says delightedly. “Rad.”

The tingling, tickling feeling gets to be too much and Adam grasps Tommy’s fingers, stopping the motion. “Next time it’s us, okay?”

Tommy gives him a sad little smile. “Sure,” he says, withdrawing his fingers and aiming for the basket of fries again.

Adam drinks more tea. “I want to do things with you again, Tommy. The studio work is slowing down, there’s time.”

Tommy holds a fry mid-air, pondering. “There’s a beach barbecue next Saturday. At night, fire ring and everything.”

“God, yes, give me the details.”

“Shane’s team is holding it but they say to bring anyone and everyone.”

Way to make me feel special, Adam thinks, and then he thinks a bit more and comes up with, I deserve that after the way I treated Tommy.

“Sounds awesome,” he says aloud. “I’d never miss a chance to see you frolicking in the ocean.”

Tommy snorts. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

Adam clears his throat. “Remember the first time we saw each other?”

“At the audition?”

Adam nods. “Thank god you decided to audition. I can’t even imagine….” 

“Karma,” says Tommy. “That’s what it was.”

“Kismet,” corrects Adam.

“What’s the difference?”

“Kismet is preordained fate. Karma is getting your just reward, or un-reward if you’ve been bad.”

“So it was kismet and karma both.”

Adam smiles. “You’re right.” He takes Tommy’s right hand – Tommy lets him without a fuss – and pushes up the sleeve of Tommy’s jacket enough to expose the first tattoo there on the inside of his wrist. “Libra. It suits you so much. You want things to be in balance.” 

“Peacemaker.”

“Yes, you’re a peacemaker. You want all the people you love to like each other and not argue and not fight.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Tommy laughs.

“You are,” agrees Adam. “That guy is so fucking lucky.”

“Who?” asks Tommy, looking adorably confused.

“Never mind.” Adam strokes the Libra symbol again. 

“I got it for you,” Tommy says suddenly. “I mean, because of you,” he corrects, turning fidgety. “Because you’re so into that astronomy bullshit.”

“Astrology.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“I know you did.” Adam strokes the Libra symbol again, slowly, inspecting it with concentration. “You got it for me.”

“Because of you,” Tommy says.

“For me,” says Adam softly. “Let me have my dream, okay?” he adds in a self-deprecating tone, trying not to lay his entire heart on the line. He looks up and finds Tommy’s eyes wide open, like a baby deer, watching him. “You know I love you, Tommy Joe.”

“Love you, too.”

“No, I mean I love you.” Adam desperately wants to feel Tommy’s alluringly gorgeous lips on his again, but there are all sorts of reasons that can’t happen, not least of which being that they’re in a fucking Denny’s in Burbank.

“And I love you,” Tommy says, gently withdrawing his hand from Adam’s. “Kismet. I wouldn’t change anything.”

“I would,” says Adam.

 

_Alameda_

On the drive home, windows open to bracingly fresh air and the delightful quiet of Los Angeles in the wee hours, Tommy tries to figure out what Adam was saying without saying it. Tommy’s pretty sure he knows but it’s so scary that he’s having trouble believing it. It’s simpler to think he’s gone crazy and started to see things that aren’t there. Talk about shit timing, too; it’s not fair of Adam to do this to him now. Because in about three minutes he’s going to pull into his parking space and go into his apartment and crawl under the covers with Shane.

Fuck, this would have been easier if he’d just found a hot chick to fall in love with. Then nothing would have changed for him and Adam. The strange thing is, Shane may have been an experiment but it turns out that living with a guy is easier than living with a girl. He knew that already, of course, from having roommates, but even though he’s not straight, Shane is still a guy. He doesn’t bitch if Tommy leaves the toilet seat up, he doesn’t care if Tommy throws his jacket on the floor, he considers a belch another way of saying _hey honey how’s it hangin’?_ Hell, it barely even registers if Tommy farts in the same room. No self-respecting girl would put up with that.

Another thing: a guy will leave you alone. Tommy likes to be off in his little world. He doesn’t need constant attention and neither does Shane. But when Tommy does want attention, Shane is way better than a straight roommate, because Shane’s always happy to give him a hug. If Shane’s ignoring him, spread out on his stomach on the carpet while highlighting a textbook, and Tommy wants attention, all he has to do is go and sit on Shane’s ass until Shane shoves him off and rolls over and wrestles him to the ground, tickling him until he nearly howls with laughter. Then it’s not long before he lets up and lets Tommy catch his breath before his hand is on Tommy’s zipper and then on Tommy’s dick and oh yeah. It’s all good.

 

_Russia_

Having breakfast together on the morning of the concert, Adam watches happily as Monte and Isaac and Tommy trade jokes and silly insults. It feels great to have the band back together even if Cam couldn’t make it. She’ll be at the next one. Right now, he’s thrumming with excitement. He loves performing more than practically anything.

Isaac can’t stop playing with Tommy’s hair, ruffling and flipping it back and forth. “It’s like the color of lobster or something!” he says excitedly. “Only you could rock this look, bro! Rock lobster!”

Monte gives Tommy a very intense once-over. “You have cute little chipmunk cheeks. Tommy, have you put on weight?”

Tommy shrugs. “Dunno.” He pats his round little belly. “Shane made lasagna yesterday. It was so good.”

Oh fuck, now the jackass can cook? If Adam hears about one more awesome skill that Shane has, he’s going to shriek like a banshee with no thought of how many eardrums or wineglasses he’ll break. Adam can’t take his frustration out on anyone here so instead he furiously texts Brad: _I hate him SOOOO hard!!!_

The concert is both weird and awesome. Sound check? Concert? Who the fuck knows? Adam grabs Tommy’s hair and yanks his head back and Tommy is nothing but thrilled to be the focus of his attention again. More than once a grin is startled out of Tommy. As for kisses, there are none. They’d talked on the flight over, briefly and ill at ease, about that and mutually decided on no kissing based on (1) Russia, (2) Sauli, and (3) Shane. But the hair pulling is nice. Tommy pays Adam back for that by playfully chasing him across the stage.

Afterwards, considering the jet lag, everybody’s too tired for anything but sleeping. Adam wakes up alone, which feels weird right now, so he goes to Tommy’s room and bangs on the door until Tommy, bleary-faced, lets him in.

“Haven’t you packed yet, Tommy Joe?”

Tommy makes a sound like _uuuuuhhhhhh oh fuck_.

“Tommy? What’d you do?” Adam stalks suspiciously toward the open and clearly half-empty suitcase on the floor.

“I ate late last night.”

“Ate what?”

“Blini, I think?”

Adam raises a supercilious eyebrow. “Just one?”

Tommy shakes his head morosely. “At least five. I feel vomitacious and I can’t even zip up these pants, damn it.”

Adam sits on the bed and beckons. Tommy comes over, wavering and swaying.

“Did you drink vodka, too?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in Mother Russia, why wouldn’t I drink vodka?”

Adam tsks. “Tommy, Tommy.” He works on the zipper, trying to ignore how close he is to Tommy’s dick. It’s whiskey dick, at least. Vodka dick. He gets the zipper up at last and Tommy nearly retches, so he unzips it again quickly.

“I can’t be on a plane for hours like this,” he moans. “Help me, Adam.”

“It’s your own fault, baby.”

“Bastard, what are you good for?”

“Watching out for your drunk ass isn’t my job, sweetie-pie.”

“It should be, fucker, you can’t manage without me,” returns Tommy saucily. 

It’s so like old times, Adam could cry from pure joy. He rubs Tommy’s exposed belly gently. “I think there’s something back in my room that I can loan you.”

Tommy collapses on the bed. “Thank god.”

 

_Home again_

Foolishly, as it turns out, Tommy had expected something fashionable but he realized later, as he napped on and off in a business-class seat on the plane, that he shouldn’t have been surprised that Adam had been talking about his own big-ass track pants.

By the time he lands at LAX, he’s forgotten that he’s wearing the stupid things. All he can see is Shane waiting for him in the Arrivals area.

“Nice pants,” says Shane. Tommy’s not even sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. Who cares? The only thing he cares about is the gigantic hug he gets, the one where his feet leave the ground and he’s giddy with the thought that he has someone to come home to.

It might be karma.


	3. Chapter 3

_Molly Malone’s_

Adam resolves to stalk Tommy. He drags Sauli to the latest Monte gig at Molly Malone’s and they sit in the back wearing knit caps and no jewelry. Adam feels almost bare-naked as he hunches over miserably, trying to make sure that Monte doesn’t spy him out. Tommy is less likely to because Tommy tends to keep his eyes down. He’s a lot more coy with an audience, saving glances for important moments.

Shane and his soccer team-mates have the same idea, apparently, as Adam, although they are arranged right in front of the stage, not trying to hide. Sauli gets excited until Adam whispers to him they’re all straight. Excepting Shane, natch. Not that Adam is watching Shane, no, not at all. He’s here to gawk at Tommy from his hidden position. Tommy looks _good,_ too, so rocker-hot in his black jacket and minimal makeup and bitten-off nail polish.

Monte enjoys talking with the crowd. He observes between songs that there’s more men than usual in the audience.

One of them yells out, “We’re here for the hot bass player!”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make you stand out or anything, pal,” counters Monte.

The female fans cheer and laugh. The men wolf-whistle at Tommy, who deigns to give them a look and flips them off with both hands, mouthing _fuck you_ with a cute little smile on his lips. That just makes the whistles increase.

While the band tears into a song, Adam lets his mind wander, like back in temple when he was a kid and that was the only quiet time in his existence, when Neil had to keep his yap shut. 

Tommy is a dilemma and an enigma and the most fucking frustrating person Adam has ever known, for no good reason at all, because Tommy doesn’t do any of that on purpose. No question, though, Tommy’s milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Why is that? He’s gorgeous, sure. He’s cute and sweet and cuddly and loving. Even though plenty of other guys seem pretty smitten with Tommy, none seem to be heartbroken as such.

Adam is. He was prepared to live with it quietly for the remainder of his life. He was willing to get by with having Tommy as a friend he could cuddle sometimes, and kiss if there was a stage-gay to play, and guide along the path of nascent stardom. He was willing to assuage his heart with second-best and be strong and respect Tommy’s choices – right up until the second he saw Tommy with a goddamn boyfriend and knew - _knew_ \- it could have been him. Should have been. If his head hadn’t been up his own ass. 

The sardonic laughter of Sutan and Brad reverberates bitterly in his mind.

When the band is on the last song, Adam drags Sauli quietly out of the place.

 

_Backstage_

Shane accosts Tommy while the latter is packing up the Squier, grabbing him from behind and picking him up off the floor.

“Fucker!” Tommy laughs, struggling until Shane sets him back down.

“Get a room,” Monte says mildly as he walks past them.

“Can I watch?” Xander asks snarkily, trailing after Monte.

When they’re gone, Tommy goes up on his toes to give Shane a quick kiss. 

“You’re so sexy when you’re playing, you know?” Shane says, squeezing Tommy tight.

Tommy blushes and hides his face against Shane’s shirt. “Shane?”

“What, sweetie?”

“Am I your type?”

“Type?” 

“Yeah, you know, like I’m short and small and, I dunno, blond.”

Shane ponders, resting his chin on the top of Tommy’s head. “I don’t think I have a type as such. It’s just you. You’re awesome. I wasn’t even looking for someone, I was so busy with my thesis work, but there you were and you looked so cool and interesting that I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so glad I didn’t.”

Tommy squeezes Shane’s midsection a little. Shane is so good for his confidence. Tommy feels like he’s been taken for granted rather too much lately. Of course his friends like him and they enjoy his company and all, but there’s a feeling of _Tommy will do this, Tommy won’t mind that, Tommy’s up for whatever._ Which is true, and yet. He wants to matter more than that.

“I love you,” he says quietly. The words pop out of his mouth without running through his brain filter first. No regrets, though.

“I love you, too, Tommy,” Shane answers, not trying to get a look at his face or anything, just letting him be.

Good thing, because Tommy starts to feel panic rising from somewhere deep within his guts. He’d seen Adam in the back of the room but then he didn’t come back to talk with them, and what is up with that? What in fuck is Adam doing?

 

_Santa Monica beach_

Brad has no intention of passing up a chance to see Tommy’s studly boyfriend, so he willingly accompanies Adam to the beach party. The ocean is still cold in late May and temperatures drop in the evening. Adam is thankful he isn’t going to look out of place in something other than beach-wear. 

Except when he and Brad find the group, at least twenty girls and guys, sure enough they’re all wearing cargo shorts and tanks and swimsuits. Several are ranging over the wet-packed sand, tossing a football.

Then to top it off, down by the surf’s edge, Shane emerges from the ocean like a Greek god in nothing but a pair of low-hanging, garish orange board shorts which are clinging like whoa. He shakes his hair, sending droplets of water everywhere.

“Wow,” says Brad. “Wow.”

Adam follows Brad’s eyes right down to the front of those orange board shorts.

“You’ve got competition in the dick department, honey.”

“Shut up,” Adam says.

“And that’s with shrinkage. That water is _cold._ ”

“Hey, Adam!” Shane hollers, bounding over and sticking out his hand, a big smile on his face just as though Adam hadn’t been rude the first time they met. 

After being introduced to Brad, who is seriously pissing off Adam by practically simpering like a ripped-bodice heiress in a saucy romance novel, Shane runs off and finds Tommy near the fire pit, which already has a nice crackly fire underway.

“I hate him,” Adam says conversationally.

“Hard,” agrees Brad. “Lucky Tommy.”

They saunter towards the fire ring. The sun’s not all the way down yet. A couple of bikini-clad women are toweling off and throwing on sweaters. Another is on one guy’s shoulders, getting a ride.

Tommy’s there, too, laughing with the other people near the fire, tiny-looking and so cute; he’s got a Metallica t-shirt on, and his own little-boy board shorts and bare feet. His back is to Adam and Brad but there’s never any mistaking Tommy from any angle.

A beefy man in a muscle tee yells at Shane, “Betcha can’t pick up your boy!” 

Shane grins with his blindingly perfect teeth and says, “Dude, you know damn well I can bench two-seventy without breaking a sweat.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen!” chortles Beefy.

“No way,” says Tommy. “I don’t like heights.”

Shane crouches beside Tommy. “Come on! I promise not to drop you. Get on my shoulders.”

Tommy shakes his head. 

“My manliness is at stake,” Shane says. He grabs Tommy’s wrist and gives it a shake. Finally Tommy is convinced to climb awkwardly onto Shane’s shoulders. Then Shane grasps Tommy’s calves and rises to his full height in one smooth movement.

“Oh my fucking god,” says Brad, hand splayed against his chest. “Be still, my heart.”

Shane turns around and Tommy spots Adam and Brad. He waves. “Hey, there are my friends,” he says in his awkwardly sweet way.

Adam walks over to Shane and tilts his head up towards Tommy. “How’s the weather up there?”

Tommy giggles. “It’s kind of cool. Being tall, I mean. Hey, I can see San Diego from here.”

“No, you can’t, loony-tunes,” says Adam. “If you fall on your head getting down, it’ll serve you right.”

“Why didn’t you ever give me a shoulder ride, Adam?” Brad asks, smacking Adam’s bicep. “Not manly enough?”

“I don’t need to prove myself,” says Adam. He’s looking right at Shane and realizes maybe he’s still being rude.

Shane shrugs, which jostles Tommy. 

“Hey!” Tommy yells, listing precariously and grabbing Shane’s head. “Don’t drop me!”

“Grab my hands,” Shane instructs, pulling Tommy’s hands out of his hair and clasping them firmly, then bending over at the waist.

“Whoa,” Tommy whimpers.

“Do a somersault, it’ll work,” Shane says calmly, and Tommy tumbles off his shoulders in a strange tangle of gangly limbs and the kind of fluid movement he manages on-stage when Adam’s hauling him around by his hair. His knees give out and he’s falling to the sand when Shane pulls him back up. “See? Easy.”

Tommy turns around, laughing and falling back against Shane’s chest, their hands still clasped, their arms twined together around his torso. “Better than a Disneyland ride,” Tommy says when he’s done laughing.

 _I hate him so fucking hard,_ Adam thinks to himself sourly. He watches, half turned on and half appalled, as Shane leans over and kisses Tommy’s gorgeous lips. Adam really had thought those lips were his, at least in terms of men versus women. Especially when Shane slips in a bit of tongue action as Tommy melts against him.

“You’re fucked,” Brad whispers in Adam’s ear. “I’m gonna go play manly sports with the big boys and their balls.” He scampers off to join the football-playing contingent.

“You are a sad excuse for a gay man, Bradley Bell!” Adam yells after him.

“That’s harsh, dude,” Shane says, laughing.

Adam turns. Shane’s still got Tommy wrapped up in his arms. Tommy gives Adam a half-panicked look and squirms, earning an odd look from Shane. “You okay, sweetie?” he asks.

“Course I am,” Tommy blurts out. “Think I need some food.”

Shane releases him.

“Tommy, wait,” Adam says, catching Tommy’s wrist.

“Huh? Why?” Tommy doesn’t try to get his wrist free but he does look baffled.

“How about a walk? I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Adam stares firmly at Shane. “You won’t mind, will you? I just want to borrow your boyfriend for a bit.”

“Up to Tommy,” says Shane.

Tommy looks back and forth between them. It’s unfair that he’s small and short and trapped between two tall guys but that’s life. Adam tugs a little on his wrist and Tommy nods.

For the first hundred yards Tommy walks in the surf while Adam avoids it, so they’re too far apart to talk quietly. Fancy Tommy in board shorts, Adam thinks, walking in the ocean. Adam feels like Tommy is getting away from him, becoming someone different while Adam was busy elsewhere. Adam hates that thought. He’s about ready to yank off his boots and roll up his cuffs and join Tommy when Shane comes running up behind them. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and carrying Tommy’s leather jacket.

“Now the sun’s down it’s going to be cold,” Shane says, holding the jacket while Tommy puts his arms in the armholes and then shrugs it on. He has a darling little smile for Shane which is just plain killing Adam. 

_Don’t kiss him,_ Adam wills silently. 

Shane leans down and kisses Tommy quickly; even as he pulls back, Tommy follows him, keeping their lips together just that much longer. “Stay warm, baby,” Shane says, smacking Tommy’s ass. Tommy yelps and kicks water at him.

Shane chuckles and heads back towards the fire ring, holding out his hand as he passes Adam, and Adam thinks the correct thing to do is a high-five. Yep, that was correct.

They walk northwest in the growing dark by the Palisades. Tommy is a little ahead of Adam and to his left, skirting back and forth when the waves come in or draw back. The shorts and jacket combo looks unbearably adorable. Traffic isn’t too heavy on PCH and the sound of the living, breathing ocean cancels out other sounds. Eventually Tommy comes closer, walking on the firm damp sand left by the outgoing tide. When he gets close enough, he takes Adam’s hand and walks beside him. For another long while they walk without speaking, until Adam can’t bear it any longer.

“I don’t want to hate Shane,” Adam says. 

“Why would you want to hate him?” Tommy asks, mystified. “I don’t hate Sauli.”

Adam sighs. “That’s different.”

“It is?” Tommy looks up at him. Even though it’s full dark by now, Tommy’s big eyes gleam in the light from the distant streetlamps.

“I’m gay.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s gaze returns to his own small feet as they plod along on the sand. 

Everything about Tommy makes Adam feel so big and clunky: the little feet, the small tense hand in his own, the skinny silhouette. He’s treading dangerous ground now and he knows it. He can’t stop talking like a fool. “It’s not strange for me to have a boyfriend.”

“It’s kind of strange,” Tommy says. “You didn’t use to have one.”

“But I’m gay, Tommy. I’m supposed to have a boyfriend. You’re not.”

Tommy’s silent.

“Tommy? You know what I mean, right? I’m not saying it to be a jackass.” Adam hopes he’s not being a jackass, anyway.

Tommy lifts his shoulder and lets it drop. “I didn’t do it to hurt you, Adam.”

“You didn’t?”

Tommy shakes his head. All Adam can see is long blond bangs.

“Tommy, you never ever said.” 

“Said what?”

“Anything! If I’d just known!” He yanks on Tommy’s hand and Tommy stops walking and turns to face him. They’re on a dark part of the beach, all alone, road lights hidden behind a jumble of big rocks. Tommy’s shivering.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy, I could live with it if all I got was a few kisses but you had to go and find yourself a guy. One who kind of looks like me, too. You think that isn’t obvious?”

“Seriously? Pot to kettle, dude.” Tommy tries to pull his hand away. Instead he gets hauled against Adam’s chest and Adam’s other arm goes around his back. “Adam, stop.”

“Fuck, Tommy, if you’ve been gay all along, did you just not want _me_?”

“Adam –“

“You were lying to me.”

“No,” Tommy says. “I never lied.”

“Then what? When did you get this inclination to, what, explore your sexuality or some such shit?”

Tommy shoves hard and Adam lets him go. Tommy turns his face away and says, softer, “I think I waited a long time without knowing what I was doing.”

“Waited?”

Tommy nods.

“So… now?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Now there’s Shane, and Sauli.”

“Sauli’s leaving.”

Tommy looks genuinely stunned. “He is? It’s over?”

“It’s over. He’s a sweetheart and he’s a friend but he isn’t the one. Do you want to know who the one is?”

Tommy shakes his head again, harder this time. “No. I don’t.”

Adam takes two steps forward and takes Tommy’s face in his hands. That big doe-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look is back. “You can’t tell me, not now, that this never meant anything.” He mashes their mouths together, pushing hard, and at first Tommy tries to pull away but then his arms are around Adam’s neck where they belong and his lips part for Adam’s tongue as sweetly as they ever did in a hundred concerts. That was for show. This is for real.

Then it’s over, Tommy is shoving at him again and turning his face away and Adam is left with a mouthful of bleached hair.

“I’m not going to do this now!” Tommy says, stumbling backwards. “It’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Adam is breathing hard. He can’t believe he did that but he wants it again, right fucking now. Tommy was born to be his, he knows it deep in his heart. No matter who gets hurt, no matter who it fucks up. “When were you fair to me? If you wanted to have a gay experiment I was right fucking there!”

“Do you ever listen? I didn’t do it to hurt you, you self-centered prick!” Tommy yells. “I’m going back,” he says, stomping over to the waterline again.

They don’t talk at all on the way back, separated by sand and silence. Adam feels like a complete chump. He debates with himself whether or not to confess his chump-hood to Brad. He knows he probably will. At least that way he’ll get to talk _about_ Tommy, because right now it looks like he may never again get to talk _with_ Tommy. 

When they see the fire ring again, Tommy breaks into a trot and aims right for Shane, who is sitting on a blanket. He pulls Tommy down between his legs so that Tommy can lean against him and warm up.

Brad spies Adam at the edge of the light. Brad always knows. He rises and comes over to Adam and puts an arm around his waist. “What’s up, babe? You look kind of fraught.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Okay, not news, there’s something else, isn’t there?

“Never mind,” Adam says. “Never fucking mind.”

 

_Tommy’s place_

Way after midnight, they're snuggled warmly in bed together, and Shane whispers quietly in Tommy’s ear, “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Tommy hangs onto Shane tighter, because he never meant any of this to happen. Honestly, he’s pretty sure he didn’t do it on purpose, but now it’s so fucked up, _so_ fucked up.


	4. Chapter 4

_UCLA campus_

Tommy can’t believe the nightmare that is parking on campus at UCLA. It’s worse than most horror flicks. Shane did warn him, but Tommy wants lunch and Shane’s in the lab, so he’s going to brave it. He feels like shit anyway for everything about last night, and the _lunch?_ sticky note left on the face of the bedside clock nearly broke his heart.

Trying to parallel park into a tiny spot he found, it doesn’t help that his mind is spinning on the events of the night before. It takes a lot of jockeying back and forth until he manages to fit in without being a mile from the curb. He leaves his jacket in the car. If he thought he’d be out of place walking around a college campus, he’s wrong, because there are plenty of tattoos and unusual haircuts on display. 

He had told Adam that he didn’t do “it” – meaning date a guy – to hurt Adam. It felt true when he said it, but is it true? He’s not sure. It’s so fucked up and now no one is going to be happy. And maybe that _is_ his fault.

Shane’s directions are good and Tommy finds the lab without much trouble. The door is open; it’s a big, high-ceilinged room with benches and shelves and tables and mismatched chairs. A woman in a white lab coat points when he asks for Shane. 

“Tommy!” Shane says, setting aside some scientific-looking gadget. “You didn’t get lost.”

“Was a near thing,” Tommy says. 

Shane plants a smushy hello kiss on Tommy’s lips. Someone snickers from behind open shelving piled high with glassware. “Ignore that dork,” Shane says. “That’s just my advisor,” he adds and gets a loud guffaw in return. “Give me a mo,” he says to Tommy, “I have to get something settled, be right back.”

Tommy strolls around the lab, peering into various burbling fish tanks while being careful not to touch anything. He spies the advisor around a corner and gives a little wave, getting a friendly grin from this older dude with a bald pate, a huge beard, a filthy lab coat, and well-worn Birkenstocks.

A bit farther into the room he finds a tank that isn’t filled with water or fish. Instead it looks like a miniature beach scene, with sand and a corner of water and small shells littered everywhere. He hears Shane come up behind him, feels an arm slipping around his back.

“Hold out your hand,” Shane instructs, reaching into the aquarium and picking up one perfectly formed shell. He puts it on Tommy’s open palm.

The tiny shell is damp and it rocks a little, settling. “Tickles,” Tommy says; when it suddenly moves he squeaks out, “Hey!”

Shane curls his hand around Tommy’s quickly. “Careful, don’t drop it.”

Tommy watches in fascination as the shell meanders across his palm. “What is it?”

“A hermit crab.”

“It’s so tiny.”

“This one’s Fred,” Shane says, releasing Tommy’s hand once he’s sure that Tommy won’t drop the crab.

Tommy laughs. “How do you know it’s a boy?” Tommy raises his hand to eye level to get a closer look at the creature.

“I don’t know. It would have to come out of the shell for me to identify it. And it doesn’t want to do that.” Shane points inside the aquarium. “The big shell in the corner is Lulu.” He carefully takes Fred from Tommy’s hand and puts the crab back into the aquarium. 

“That’s a lot of crabs,” Tommy says, peering inside. Shells are littered everywhere; some of them are moving.

“Most of those are empty shells. When a crab gets bigger, it needs a bigger shell. Lulu’s older than Fred so she’s bigger. They keep changing shells as they grow.”

“Yeah? Cool.”

“That’s why we put a lot of different-sized shells in there. They keep looking until they find the right one, until they find whatever is the right home for them.” 

Tommy watches the tiny shells lurch around the mini-sandbar. “That’s so rad.” 

Shane grins at Tommy. “Isn’t it? Hey, ready for lunch?”

“Um, okay, but maybe not seafood?”

It’s not hard to find a vegetarian café on campus. The food isn’t just okay, it’s awesome. As they dig into falafel wraps and fruit smoothies, Shane plays footsy under the rickety metal table in full view of everyone else in the place. He seems to have forgotten the whispered words the night before. Or being Shane, knows enough not to bring them up. Tommy still feels like a total shit over everything. Count on Shane to let unpleasant things slide. He doesn’t feel like he deserves Shane right now. Or anyone, really.

As they walk back to the lab building, Shane takes Tommy’s hand in his and laces their fingers together. “Hey, Tommy. Come over here.” He pulls Tommy over to a bench under a sheltering tree. He keeps Tommy’s hand in his. “I got some news this morning.”

Tommy’s stomach sinks. 

“I got the postdoc at Woods Hole.”

Tommy feels like the world just dropped away. That place is 3000 miles across the country. And he knows it’s the one Shane wanted most.

“This is why I should never have started something.”

Tommy tilts his head and peers sideways through his bangs.

“I knew I wouldn’t be staying in Los Angeles,” Shane explains. “I’ve known all along that I’m going to have to move somewhere else for my postdoc. That’s one reason I really wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Tommy looks down at the ground. “I get it.”

“Tommy, no. God, I’m so glad I went to the bar that night. I’m so glad you were there.”

“Yeah, except…”

“No excepts,” Shane says firmly. “No regrets.”

“Okay, so,” Tommy starts. “You’re just leaving?”

Shane shakes his head. “Not for two months. I have to get through my thesis defense first.”

If he has to be honest with himself, Tommy feels crushed, but also kind of like a load has lifted from his shoulders: like he knew this was coming, and now that it’s here, he doesn’t have to wonder any longer. He knew it was too good to be true. He’s used to being wanted for his looks but not for long-term. He’s reluctant to let it go, though, because it’s Shane, and he’s been thinking that maybe Shane wants something long-term. “Aren’t there postdoc jobs in California?”

Shane puts his arm around Tommy's shoulders and rubs his hand up and down Tommy’s tattooed arm. “This has been my plan for years, baby. This is my dream career. It’s the best place for me to go next. By far.”

Well, there went _that_ theory. “Okay, I understand.”

Shane squeezes Tommy’s shoulders and sighs. “ _This_ is why I wasn’t looking for someone. I knew I’d have to leave. But there you were and I couldn’t stop myself. You were so sweet and cute and everything.”

“What are we going to do?” It's an honest question. Tommy just can't see past the next five minutes right now. He's stuck in the present because all of a sudden the future seems weird and unknowable.

Shane hugs him fiercely. “I want to keep you, baby,” he says. “But how can I ask you to leave Los Angeles, your friends, your music?”

 _Just ask,_ Tommy thinks. What would it be like to leave Los Angeles? Traveling around the U.S. and then the world as part of Adam's band had been an incredible experience. Maybe living somewhere new would be a good idea. He’s been in Burbank his entire life. They have music on the East Coast, surely. Bands need guitarists and bass players. Yet for pretty much all his life, everyone he’s known has been in L.A. or nearby. The idea of moving to another city scares the shit out of him, even if there are days he’d like to do it. He knows if he moved somewhere, even somewhere exciting like, say, New York, he’d probably commit suicide out of depression if he knew no one there. So he’s always stayed in California.

But now? It’s different. He doesn’t really know where Woods Hole is, but he knows someone who’ll be living there.

 

 _Adam’s house_

“You didn’t,” Sutan says with immense conviction.

“I did,” Adam answers.

“You didn’t,” Sutan repeats, his eyes going wider.

“He did,” Brad affirms. “He really, really did.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Adam huffs, “but in my defense, he drives me fucking insane.”

“Who, Tommy?” asks Sutan. “He drives everyone fucking insane.”

It’s been two months since the beach party, but Adam still hasn’t forgotten every single fucking detail. Partly because Brad won’t let him forget. They’ve gone around and around on it until both are angry at each other. They’ve approached Sutan to get a fresh opinion, embarrassing though it is to tell Sutan about how he literally grabbed Tommy and snogged him without proper consent.

“He kissed me back,” Adam grouses. “He’s always kissed me back.”

“Stage gay?” asks Sutan. “Isn’t that a special case, girl? Be reasonable.”

Adam glowers at Sutan, his dark eyebrows drawing together comically. 

“You look like steam is going to come out of your ears in a minute.” Sutan pets Adam’s head. “Oooh, your hair feels freshly mown.”

“Sutan,” Adam says, enunciating every syllable very clearly. “Listen to me. He was getting into it until he had a guilt attack or something. Then he ran back to you-know-who.”

Sutan takes both of Adam’s shoulders into his hands and steadies him. It’s annoying that Sutan is actually an inch taller than Adam. He should have worn the medges. If he hadn’t invited Brad and Sutan to his house – if he’d met them somewhere else – he _would_ have been wearing those damn medges.

“Adam,” says Sutan. Enunciating every syllable very clearly. “Tommy has a boyfriend. Tommy is happy with said boyfriend.”

“Said boyfriend is way hot,” Brad throws in.

Sutan and Adam both turn their heads to glare Brad down. Brad throws his hands up in mock surrender.

Sutan turns back to Adam. “Move on, Adam. Just move on. There are other men. Lots of other men. Very, very hot other men.”

“You don’t get it,” Adam groans. “I don’t want to hook up with Tommy. He’s not just someone else. He’s been driving me nuts for fucking years. I can’t stop thinking about him or what could have been. Where I went wrong or if I should have been able to see that a guy could turn his crank.”

“For fuck’s sake, everyone but you could see that,” Brad says, rolling his eyes.

“How?” Adam cries. “How could anybody see that? He said I was his _only_ exception.”

“I think _you_ said that, Adam,” Sutan tells him gently.

Adam looks flustered. “Really?” He turns to Brad. Brad nods. “Oh fuck.” He shrugs off Sutan’s hands and goes over to his hippie-witch-inspired sofa (the one with the toile fabric and the gold-painted rococo frame) and flops onto its cushions dramatically. “Guys, you just don’t get it. It doesn’t matter if Tommy is with that – that perfect specimen of manhood. It doesn’t matter if other men find me attractive. Years,” he says wonderingly. “All that time. I was an idiot to not realize what was in front of me.”

“It’s over,” says Brad softly, sitting down and pulling Adam’s head down to his shoulder, stroking his hair. “We all make mistakes, we all have to live with regrets. It’s done, it’s in the past, it’s over.”

Adam shakes his head mournfully. “No, it’s not. For me it isn’t over.”

Brad pets at Adam’s hair. Sutan takes the other free sofa cushion and nudges up against Adam. “We’ll be here for you, Adam. You know what they say, sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.”

Adam snorts. He maybe even sniffles a little. So what if his eyes are moist? He’s never going to get over Tommy (not that he ever really got over Brad, either), but at least he’s got amazing friends to help him through the tough shit. “Love you both,” he says.

They pet and nudge him some more.

His landline rings. 

“Ignore it,” Adam says. “Nobody move. I’m not ready to be alone.”

The phone rings three more times and then the answering machine picks up, Adam’s voice saying, “I’m out somewhere being fabulous. Leave a message.”

What squawks out of the machine next makes all three of them sit bolt upright. It’s Neil, hollering at the apparent top of his lungs, “Tommy’s gone! He’s just plain gone! Where are you, you fucker?”

Adam scrambles across the living room and punches the _loudspeaker_ button. Brad and Sutan know all his business anyway, so there’s no need to take this private. “Neil? Neil! What happened?”

“Oh, you’re there?” Neil’s voice gets sarcastic. “Screening your calls?”

“Neil!” Adam yells.

“Okay, bitch. Chew on this. He moved the fuck outta L.A. Isaac said he’s gone and he took his favorite guitar and a practice amp and – he’s just gone. He left with Shane. Gone off to New England somewhere. Everyone is fucking freaking the fuck out – you need to fucking do something stat!”

Adam turns, helpless, to Brad and Sutan, who sit alertly on the edge of the sofa, watching him like a couple of housecats watching their human. 

"Wow," says Brad after a moment. "I didn't see that coming at all."


	5. Chapter 5

_Woods Hole_

Tommy sits cross-legged on the bare floor of Shane’s new apartment, which is really just the upstairs of a old clapboard house that’s been converted into two apartments. He’s holding a huge sheaf of hole-punched paper that’s bound by brads.

Footsteps clomp up a wooden staircase and Shane appears in the doorway with a bag of groceries. “Hey, is that something good you’re reading, darlin’?”

Tommy looks up, smiling. “This is _so_ boring.”

Shane laughs and kicks the door shut. “Good thing my thesis committee disagreed.”

“Yeah, right, Dr. Shane,” Tommy says, a twinkle in his eyes.

Shane dumps the bags on the tiny kitchen counter space and comes to kneel beside Tommy. “Want to help me make dinner?”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Home-made tacos.”

“You’re fucking awesome,” Tommy says, laying the thesis aside and pulling Shane down to his level with a hand on the collar of his polo shirt. Shane goes happily where Tommy drags him, his lips colliding against Tommy’s. 

Woods Hole, Massachusetts is a whole new world, for sure. During the Glam Nation tour, there’d been no time for sightseeing. So he had been to Boston and Providence but hadn’t seen the Atlantic Ocean. Shane had taken him for a walk along the shore the day before. Above all, Tommy noticed the briny smell, much different from the Pacific. They’d walked down Penzance and Bar Neck Road, stepping aside when a car went by, enjoying the sound of the waves on the sandbars to each side, and scoffing at the overly large houses belonging to wealthy people. Walking on the damp sand, Tommy had noticed another difference from the California beaches – shells everywhere, littered across the sand. Shane pointed out a horseshoe crab making its lonely way back to the water. 

The Woods Hole campus is nothing like UCLA, and Tommy doesn’t even know UCLA all that well. The tiny downtown is quaint, that’s the only operative word for it. The buildings are mostly lots older than Los Angeles buildings, but not nearly as old as the places Tommy had gone in Europe during the tour. There’s more of a feeling of being worn down; the grocery stores are not pristinely new like Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s but on the other hand the greens of the trees and bushes are way greener than the stuff along Ventura beach.

It’s going to snow here in a few months. Tommy shivers at the thought.

“What’s this?” asks Shane, lifting a local free paper from the floor.

“Was looking at the club ads.”

“How do they look?”

“Same as anywhere.”

“We could go to listen to a band tonight. If you like?”

Tommy nods. “Maybe. Tacos first, though.”

That night, long after midnight, lying together in the second-hand bed they found in a thrift shop, Shane whispers, “Thanks for coming with me. It’s kind of scary going to a new place alone.”

Tommy can’t believe anything scares Shane, but he knows that feeling of needing someone familiar when you go somewhere new.

 

_Ed’s Coffee Shop_

Sutan rubs at Adam’s shoulder with one hand while stirring Equal into his coffee with the other. “You know what I’m going to tell you, honey, don’t you?”

Adam shakes his head like a shaggy dog, hair flopping everywhere.

“Oh, baby, oh come on,” Sutan cajoles.

“I can’t believe he actually left,” Adam says quietly.

Sutan looks around the coffee shop. It’s late morning and on the quiet side, but the place is small and intimate and you can’t be too careful. Even so, he doesn’t see anyone who appears to be listening in. In fact everyone there is cool enough not to notice if there is a well-known face in their midst. He leans in towards Adam and lowers his voice. “You _know_ what you have to do. You _know_.”

Adam raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“That’s right, baby, you have to go and get him back.”

Adam’s forehead thunks on the table. 

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Sutan says, “and get your hair out of my pancakes.”

 

_Shane’s apartment_

The apartment is starting to feel homey. Over the past few days they have scoured the Goodwill and Salvation Army stores for mismatched bits of furniture. It reminds Tommy of nearly everywhere he’s ever lived. He didn’t grow up with money and he doesn’t make all that much as a bass player for a mid-level pop star. He doesn’t care because he’s comfortable with surroundings like this. The quilt spread carefully over the big bed is one that Shane’s mother made for him years ago. Shane throws in some personal photos, including one from that notorious beach party, where someone caught a snap of Tommy on Shane’s shoulders. Tommy’s favorite Fender and a small amp sit in one corner of the living room, looking right at home.

It’s Sunday and Shane doesn’t have to be anywhere for a few hours, and Tommy doesn’t have to be anywhere at all, ever, so they have a very late, very lazy breakfast, the _Boston Globe_ spread out on the kitchen table. They trade sections while they eat waffles and drink coffee and orange juice.

Shane’s hand sneaks over and rests on top of Tommy’s. Tommy looks up and smiles, because who wouldn’t when Shane is smiling like the sun coming over a hill.

“You know I love you, right?” Shane asks. “Thank god I went to that bar that night.”

Tommy can’t breathe for a moment. Then he awkwardly pushes back his chair and goes around the table and shoves himself onto Shane’s lap, burying his face against Shane’s shoulder.

“Don’t be sad, baby,” Shane says soothingly, stroking Tommy’s back and holding him tightly.

“Can’t help it,” Tommy mumbles against Shane’s shirt.

“Everything’s going to work out, it’s going to be all right.”

Tommy tucks himself closer into Shane’s body, if that’s possible. “Love you,” he says. “Shane.”

Hours later, after sleepy sex in the big bed, afternoon sunlight slanting against their skin, after Shane goes to his new lab to meet with his new advisor, Tommy plays his guitar. It feels so unusual to be here, alone, in a state that’s not California, rocking slow blues on a crappy little amp. He remembers the old lyric about the blues being nothing but a good man feeling bad.

“Fuck,” he says out loud, then laughs at himself.

He wonders what’s going on in California. Isaac’s been keeping him in the loop. There’s uncomfortable shit going down with Monte and with that fake album that someone is trying to pass off as Adam’s second album. Tommy doesn’t know all the details, doesn’t want to know; back in L.A. he was feeling stuck between Monte and Adam. But he’s not even sure it matters anymore, now that he’s not there. He lets himself wonder, for one second, what the fuck Adam thinks about the way he ran off. Then he shuts that line of thinking down and plugs his iPod into the amp so he can jam along with Clapton or Jimi or Stevie Ray.

The ringing of the doorbell actually makes him jump, it’s that unexpected. The chord he's playing goes sour and his pick goes flying across the room. 

Who the fuck?

The doorbell rings again – if it’s a Jehovah’s Witness, Tommy’s gonna flip his shit –Tommy sets the guitar down and goes to the door.

What he isn’t expecting is Adam. 

Adam looking tired and grumpy and gorgeous and worried, frozen in place, his finger about to press the doorbell again, staring at Tommy.

“Adam?” Tommy asks stupidly.

Adam’s arm drops to his side. “I need you. For promo.”

That doesn’t compute in Tommy’s mind.

“The new album. It’s time for promo. I need you,” Adam clarifies, not very clearly.

“You should probably find yourself a bass player who knows how to play bass,” Tommy says. 

“I did,” Adam answers. “Her name is Ashley.”

Oh. Wow. Well, Tommy should have expected that. Nonetheless, it hurts. “Okay, then, you have your band, why are you here?”

“Monte’s out. You’re on lead.”

This is the strangest conversation Tommy can ever remember having, standing on a doorstep in a strange state, not even inviting Adam in, and Adam’s saying things that aren’t making sense to Tommy.

“Can I?” Adam asks, gesturing awkwardly.

Tommy rouses himself. “Yeah.” He turns and goes back to the chair he was in before, picking up his guitar and putting it in front of himself like it’s a shield. He feels too vulnerable without it. Adam shuts the front door and settles onto the small sofa.

“Where is…?” Adam’s voice drifts off, as though he doesn’t want to say the name.

“Shane? He’s on campus, he’ll be back in an hour or so for dinner.”

Adam looks around the uncluttered, sunny room. “Are you happy here?”

Tommy shrugs.

“I’m serious,” Adam says. “Lead guitar. We always talked about it, in case Monte got busy with Madonna. And now that he got busy with those assholes and that album, it’s your job. If you want it.”

Tommy sighs inwardly. He’s always come in second in Adam’s esteem, or regard, or affection. He feels like an afterthought. Not to mention his conflicted feelings about Monte. The guy introduced him to lots of people in the business, and took him everywhere for months, giving him a chance to buff his live-gig skills. Monte also used him. Even so, Tommy misses the children, especially Beatrix. But Adam? Imperfect though he is, Adam came all this way (and Tommy would have to chastise Isaac later for giving up the address of this apartment) and for what? For Tommy? Tommy never would have guessed Adam would have done something like this. It’s a little bit flattering, a little bit overwhelming, and really inappropriate under the circumstances. 

“Adam,” he begins. He looks up from his hand, where it rests on the guitar’s neck, to ponder Adam.

“Yes?” Adam looks hopeful.

“You want me for promo.”

“Yes.”

“Is that it?”

Adam’s eyes go wide. “I – yes. I mean no. It’s time for promo and I want you to have a career as a guitarist and I want everyone to see how great you are at it.”

Tommy waits.

“And I miss you,” Adam adds.

Tommy misses Adam, too, even though the man is sitting right in front of him. He misses the first times they were together, playing music, sitting on the beach at Cabo, partying in New York. Those were exciting times, full of promise and possibility, and, he’s even willing to admit now, full of love. Tommy can’t deny that: he’s been in love with Adam for a long while, and even though everything’s different now, years have passed and they’ve grown closer and then farther apart, nothing has changed that.

_Nothing but a good man feelin’ bad._

“I was missing you when you were a half hour drive away.”

“I apologized for that.”

“Not looking for apologies. I’m trying to explain.”

“Oh.” Adam scratches his chin. “You mean explain how you were in a snit and decided to go out and find someone like me?”

Tommy snorts. “Like _you_ went out and found someone like _me_?”

“That’s not what I did!” Adam protests. 

“Then don’t accuse me of it.”

Adam frowns. “I just don’t get why you went looking for a guy at all.”

“We’ve been over this. If you don’t understand, then I’ll save my breath and stop trying to explain.”

“Your explanations are kind of sketchy at the best of times, Tommy, no lie.”

“Fuck you, we can’t all be articulate and smart and shit like you.”

Adam glares at Tommy.

Tommy glares back.

It doesn’t get better anytime soon, so Tommy calls Shane after awhile, asks him to bring home takeout for three. He can’t bring himself to throw Adam out of the apartment – doesn’t even know if he wants to – but he badly needs a buffer zone. It’s not fair to treat Shane like a buffer zone, but Shane won’t mind, he’s awesome like that.

Horrifically awkward doesn’t begin to describe the situation. Adam and Tommy have already been either sniping at each other or giving the cold shoulder for the past eighty minutes by the time Shane arrives with a cheerful grin, a hearty handshake for Adam, a quick kiss for Tommy, and takeout containers from the local and highly locavore vegan eatery. 

“I appreciate this,” Adam mumbles, as they sit around the kitchen table, Tommy on a stool since there are only two dining chairs, eating the food with plastic forks off paper plates. “This is excellent stuff.”

Shane looks over at Tommy, who shrugs and admits it’s tastier than he was expecting, considering it’s vegan.

“So you just flew into Boston and drove down here?” Shane asks.

Adam nods.

“What’s your plan?”

That’s awfully direct. Adam doesn’t look like he wants to answer. Tommy’s fork is poised mid-air, waiting for the answer to a question he was afraid to ask.

Adam clears his throat, drinks more tea, and harrumphs like an old biddy in a British movie from the fifties. “Kidnap Tommy,” he announces abruptly. “I have two plane tickets leaving Boston tomorrow.”

“Fuck, Adam,” Tommy says miserably.

“First class,” Adam adds, as though that’s going to help.

Tommy puts down his fork and walks out of the room without a backward glance. But not quite fast enough to avoid hearing Shane say, “Hey, let’s go for a drink so we can talk,” to Adam.

Oy very fucking vey. Tommy hates his life right now.

 

_Fishermonger’s Café_

Over fancy martinis, Shane asks Adam a million questions about the music business, how an album is created, who decides the tour cities, and how Adam grew up doing school musicals. By the second drink, Adam decides he doesn’t hate Shane all that hard. He even starts to understand why Tommy fell for him. 

“It’s not easy to hate you,” he says casually, because the drinks are strong and his brain-mouth filter is weakening significantly.

“You hate me?” Shane asks, susprised.

“Not anymore.” 

Shane gives Adam the side eye. “You were jealous?”

“What do you think.”

Shane leans closer. “I can kind of get that, because Tommy’s amazing. What I don’t get is why you didn’t grab him while you had the chance.”

Adam moans. Thank fuck this tiny New England town has no paparazzi. He leans in. “He told me he was straight.”

“Come on, Lambert, you and me, we’ve known we were gay since we were little kids, we know the drill, we also know that it’s harder for some guys to deal with their feelings. You’re telling me you didn’t have an inkling?”

“You never chased a straight guy and had a bad experience?”

Shane shakes his head. “I’m the first to admit, I’m so into my studies that I don’t go out a lot. Lots of guys think I’m too boring, always in the lab or writing papers. I have to push myself to go out to bars sometimes.”

It’s Adam’s turn to deliver the side eye. “You think that’s the only place I meet guys? Thanks.”

“You were telling me twenty minutes ago about how much clubbing you do!”

Fair enough. Adam _had_ told him that. This line of talk is making him grumpy again. The impromptu trip to Massachusetts is turning out all wrong. Adam’s going to take it out of Sutan’s hide when he returns to L.A.

“I thought,” Adam says slowly, “that he really didn’t want to be gay. He liked the stage-gay but then in actual reality he turned me down and that was pretty painful. I spent nearly a year on him and there’s only so much coyness I can take, you know?”

“You’re not patient,” Shane says, nodding. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do. I may be impatient but I gave him a buttload of time.”

“The timing was wrong, then.”

Adam groans loudly. Even the waitress notices; she comes over and asks if there’s something wrong with his drink. Adam shakes his head and orders another round for both of them. “How would you know, he went right to bed with you.”

“Who said that? I didn’t make any moves for over a month.”

Adam raises a supercilious eyebrow at Shane.

“I’m not kidding,” Shane says. “I’m a romantic. I’m not out for a quick blowjob.”

“I can be romantic,” Adam scowls. The booze is starting to slosh around inside his stomach. He considers everything they’ve said. He feels what his dad calls a barstool manifesto burbling up from his depths. “Oh fuck,” he says.

Shane looks worried. “You’re not going to barf, are you?”

“Nuh uh. I was thinking. Don’t laugh, I may not be a genius like you but I’m capable of thinking.”

Shane puts up both hands placatingly.

“I took him for granted,” Adam grumbles. “But you know something? He took me for granted, too. He thought I’d always be there if he suddenly wanted to be gay.”

Shane shakes his head as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re really something, you know that? What you need right now, Adam, is to consider your next move very carefully.”

“My next move? My next move doesn’t matter, I already lost, I’m going back to L.A. by myself and I have to find a new guitarist.”

“I think there’s something you don’t know,” Shane says. “Tommy came with me to help me move in. He’s always planned to go back.”

Adam’s jaw practically drops to the tabletop.

“Don’t get cocky,” Shane says. “It’s not about you. It’s about us and the fact that my career is going to dictate where I live for the next five years and after that, I’ll be moving somewhere else that could be anywhere. That sucks for Tommy’s career. He needs to be where he can be in a band and go gigging and touring. It doesn’t work for him to pick up and move around after me. I’m not going to do that to him.”

Adam feels astonished and hopeful, but in a guilty way. “Really? He’s going to leave you? Why? I wouldn’t.”

“I told him that’s the way it is, and that’s the last thing you’ll hear from me on the topic. I’m not discussing it with you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“I’m sorry about – “

“Please shut up.” 

That’s the rudest Shane’s ever been, to Adam’s knowledge. So he shuts up. 

“Just one thing,” Shane says, looking darkly at Adam. “He’s not yours. He belongs to himself, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and you do not fuck with him. Got that? I’m a nice guy but I’m absolutely certain I could beat the shit out of you if necessary.”

Adam definitely wishes he hadn’t had that third martini. He’s pretty certain he won’t barf. _Pretty_ certain. “You’re kind of scary.”

Shane laughs. “No, I’m not. Don’t ever give me a reason, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Friends?” Shane holds out his martini glass.

Adam clicks it carefully with his, not wanting broken barware on the tab. “How about mutual acquaintances of a guitar player?”

 

_Shane’s apartment_

Tommy’s off in guitar-world when the door opens and the two men in his life stumble in, giggling, maybe two sheets to the wind, max. He wants to hate both of them. It’s late and why is Adam here and not in some hotel downtown? Because, apparently, Shane said that was silly and Adam can stay in the apartment.

The sleeping arrangements are bizarre. The sofa is far too short for Adam, so they pile up some blankets on the wooden floorboards.

In fact, as Tommy and Shane turn out the living room light and head for the bedroom, Adam actually says, “Is this the weirdest fucking sleeping arrangement that’s ever happened in the history of ever?”

“Good night,” Shane says. “I left a night-light on in the bathroom.”

Tommy tosses and turns in the bed, even when Shane tries to capture him and hold him. It’s just too weird. The guy he’s in love with – _still,_ and he could slap his own face over it – is snoring on the living room floor not thirty feet away while the guy he loves is cuddling him here in bed. The extra airline ticket is on the kitchen table, and Adam had said to change it to whatever date he needs and Adam will pay for the difference. Tommy’s not leaving tomorrow even though he could pack everything in under five minutes. He’s not ready. 

Life’s a total, total, _total_ bitch.

In the morning they have a quiet breakfast together and then Adam drives off in his rental car, after leaving behind a folio of lyrics and a disc from the new album.

“Promo’s starting in a couple of weeks,” Tommy tells Shane. “I need to practice.”

Shane pulls Tommy onto his lap and loops his arms loosely around Tommy’s waist. “You need to do that in L.A., I think.”

Tommy nods, pressing his lips against Shane’s neck.

“Give me three more days,” Shane whispers in his ear.

Tommy nods again. He can’t talk anymore; he feels a crying jag working its way up from his guts.

Shane hugs him harder. “I’m always going to think of you as my little rockstar boyfriend.” He laughs; the sound is kind of ragged and desperate. “The time I was cool enough to have a pink-haired boyfriend who can shred like James Hartfield.”

“Hetfield,” Tommy corrects, muffled, giggling a little.

Shane tugs on a lock of pink hair. “Whatever,” he says fondly. 

 

_Kansas City, Country Inn Motel_

That’s how fancy promo is: they’re staying in a motel. It’s been Adam and Tommy doing acoustic radio gigs for a few weeks now. It took several gigs to get into the groove, but they’re in it now. Tommy misses his electric guitars, but Guild gave him a gorgeous new acoustic so he feels pretty rockstar these days. Even having to get up outrageously early in the morning is manageable. He and Adam haven’t had fun like this together in months. It feels good.

They work out the arrangements together at every stop, practicing for a couple of hours when they get the chance. They have meals together and every few days they go out at night. Sometimes Adam gets paid to make appearances at clubs, and since they haven’t toured in awhile, extra money never hurts. They talk about everything but the thing that’s on both their minds.

Tommy texts and talks every day with Shane, who has been invited to go on a three-month research cruise to the South Atlantic and sounds very excited about it. The cruise leaves in a few weeks. Once he’s out there, contact will get a lot more sporadic.

Tommy misses Shane so much that he throws himself into even more rehearsal, more practice, more working out of arrangements, anything to keep his mind occupied. He wakes up exhausted and goes to bed exhausted, and that’s a good thing.

Two a.m. and he’s shoving his clothes back into his suitcase before sleeping, because they’ll be on the road first thing in the morning, damn it. There’s a knock and he calls _come in_ because it’s just Adam, and Adam uses the spare key and lets himself in. He looks as tired as Tommy feels.

“How are the adds going?” Tommy asks.

Adam sits on the bed beside Tommy. “I hate this. It’s like being a door-to-door salesman.”

“So no new adds?”

“Not today.” Adam picks up a couple of black t-shirts and starts to fold them neatly.

“You don’t have to do that,” Tommy argues, reaching for the shirts.

“No way, you’ll just stuff them in there. You’re always so wrinkled.”

Tommy shrugs. “So what?”

“I want you to look hot,” Adam says, smiling carefully. “Is that bad?”

This is shaky ground, like being in the middle of a frozen lake that’s starting to crack. “Hot is for you, Adam. I’m just small and pretty.”

Adam tousles Tommy’s hair and Tommy ducks his head, grinning. “You’re hot like burning, sweetie. Do you still have that jacket I gave you, the one with the epaulets and the peace-sign buttons?”

Tommy nods. “It’s in L.A. Saving it for full-band gig.”

“You look incredible in that. I should arrange a full-band gig asap.”

“I’m going to dye my hair a new color, I think.” Tommy runs his hand through his hair.

“Trespassing yellow?”

“Wait and see.”

“Should we watch some YouTube of us today?”

“Think it’s up already?”

Adam snickers. “Fuck yeah, of course.”

They get snuggled up on the spare bed, the one that the suitcase and its contents aren’t spread all over. Every pillow in the room gets deployed and a comforter covers their feet. Adam fires up his iPad and sets it on his knees, one arm around Tommy’s thin shoulders. 

It feels almost natural to be back like this, cuddling with Adam. Tommy has trouble really watching the videos. He’s too overwhelmed by the feelings that are still there, different, sadder, wiser, but maybe deeper, too. They’ve been through so much, and they’re both bitches, if he’s being honest. For all Adam’s talk of realness, it’s a lot harder to be real than just by saying it. Adam does have that tendency to blurt out his feelings and what he’s thinking, even if he sometimes mixes up realness with what he wishes was real, while Tommy’s tendency is to clam up and hold it in. Still, they aren’t that much different, not really. Not where it counts.

Tommy laces his fingers with Adam’s free hand. “Shane told me I had to find the right home, the one that fit me.” Adam doesn’t know about the hermit crabs, so someday Tommy will tell him. Not right now. Some other day.

Right now, Adam squeezes his hand back. “I got so lucky that day you walked into the audition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

Tommy hesitates. It’s time to be a little more open than usual. “When you sang _Ring of Fire_ on American Idol, or anyway when I watched it later on the web, that was when.”

“When what?”

“I fell for you. Didn’t know what to do with it, though.”

There is some telltale glistening in Adam’s eyes. He turns away from Tommy, back to the video where they are playing _Trespassing_ and grinning at each other like fools when they do it right. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, gorgeous. That’s when I knew.”

Tommy making a humming sound. “It’s a good thing I was willing to learn how to play bass, then.”

Adam pulls Tommy close against his shoulder and kisses the top of his head. “Tommy, I’m sorry for everything.”

“Me, too.”

“I was an idiot.”

“Can we not talk about this ever again?”

Adam laughs. “Yes, let’s not.”

They watch a bit longer. “I can’t believe you had to stop me that time,” Tommy says. “I was totally on autopilot.”

“That was hilarious,” Adam agrees. “Sleepy Tommy.”

Tommy yawns, as if on cue. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” he asks, tilting his head to look up at Adam in the soft light.

Adam looks back, his eyes still sparkling but not threatening to spill over any longer. “I think so. You know… kismet.”

Tommy giggles. “Kiss me, dork.”

So Adam does.

 

_The End_


End file.
